


Homegrown Floriography

by highinfibre



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, i do love mildred, just as much as i love the irony in the word count
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 00:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highinfibre/pseuds/highinfibre
Summary: Mary has a lot to say about Mildred Fritton - in her own way.





	Homegrown Floriography

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TisBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TisBee/gifts).

Flowers had meanings, the fancy folk would insist, pouring over arrangements while they thought the commoners were out of earshot. They spoke feelings in a volume words couldn’t, housing confessions and secrets within their petals and leaves. 

Now, Mary couldn’t hear what the flowers had to say. Words were rarely her forte, and she certainly wasn’t privy to the goings on of the upper crust. She’d never learn the intricacies in offering a rose in red versus crimson, or what it means to mix a carnation’s stripes with cyclamen. It was superfluous, for a start, and her other senses worked just fine. A girl of the fields, she saw much of the flora that the English countryside could offer. 

Daisies were soft, as was Mildred’s smile, and grew as freely as she gave them. They could be woven in delicate crowns, or braided into stray locks of dark hair. Even the clumsiest of offers would garner a smirk at the least. The uses of a daisy were as versatile as the woman herself; Mary collected those smiles in every daisy she picked. 

Roses were oft considered a beauty, even as their thorns cut deep and sharp. Mildred’s convictions sliced the air around her as the plants did Mary’s skin, but she coveted them both just the same. When there was something Mildred wanted, she chased it and held on tight. That was something that Mary wouldn’t change for the world.

* * *

A fern was not a flower, not in the conventional sense, but it matched her eyes, and the laugh Mary garnered for it had been worth the effort it took to get it. The edge of the woodlands had seemed a prime place to wander undisturbed, shy knuckles brushing up against each other with every step. Mildred spoke loudly and animatedly, her left arm swinging in wild gestures as she narrated her day. Mary had been content to listen, gaze warm as she watched her dance through her tales. She had a flair for the dramatics, her Mildred did. It was a state Mary loved to watch her inhabit; the starkness in the preformative actions drew her in, sometimes so far as to drop in a few suggestions of her own for where Mildred should take her imaginings next. On that particular day, however, Mary’s attention was elsewhere. 

Her pace had slowed as she turned. Mary came to a pause before a clump of ferns. Its hue had struck her. The green resonated just so, calling her forward to take some and match it to Mildred’s gaze. Alas, the grass was a fickle friend; a hidden dip saw her tumbling to the ground. 

“Mary!” Mildred had cried, all persona’s dropped as she rushed to aid her friend. “Are you alright?”

The Mary in question did not respond. She merely emerged, grass stained and askew, with a single leaf clutched between a finger and thumb. 

“A flower,” She crooned, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “It be for the lady.” 

Lost for a proper response, the two soon descended into laughter. 

* * *

Mary knew flowers well, her knack for picking the perfect one had become second nature. The geranium had come as a surprise- the first instance of her receiving such a gift. It was a burst of colour in the wake of a very heavy absence. Several months had passed since the two saw each other last, much to their despair. Mildred presented it as much an apology as it was a gift and followed it, impulsively, with a bumbling kiss on the cheek. Mary had become as crimson as the petals she now clutched reverently to her chest. She wouldn’t be able to see another geranium without the memory of it calling out to her. 

It would only be in retrospect that Mary could appreciate the irony. She never did learn what the flowers had to say. But she could see well enough to direct them to her own ends, and build a language of her own.

**Author's Note:**

> Flowers and their meanings, for your perusal:
> 
> •Carnation (Striped): No, Refusal, Sorry I can't be with you  
•Cyclamen: Resignation, Goodbye  
•Daisy: Loyal love, Gentleness, Innocence  
•Fern: Fascination, Sincerity, Magic  
•Geranium (Scarlet): Consolation  
•Rose (Assorted Colours): You're everything to me  
•Rose (Red) I love you  
•Rose (Crimson): Mourning


End file.
